Nighthoof
by Lia Bates
Summary: Companions never choose until they are ten years old. I've always wondered why. Please R&R.


Nighthoof  
  
"Come on, Merra, love, come on, nearly there . . ." The man whispered to the Companion lying on the straw. "Come on."  
  
The Companion's breathing was laboured as she struggled to give birth, and the two Heralds exchanged worried glances. Companions did not foal with the ease of horses, but this labour was going badly wrong.  
  
Tran shuddered as another wave of his Companion's pain rippled through their bond, but Alle suddenly looked cheered. She looked up from her position at the other end of the stall, supporting an emerging body.  
  
"The foal's breech, Tran, but it's coming through all right." She smiled, evidently relieved, as she helped the tiny colt to stand. Tran, however, turned away from the sight to look in horror at his Companion. The mare struggled weakly, and imparted one final message to her Chosen.  
  
:Love . . . you . . .:  
  
"Merra!" Tran shouted, as he felt her presence fade. "Merra!" He turned, eyes mad to the newborn colt. "Little bastard, she's dead! You killed my Merra, you killed your own mother!"  
  
The colt stumbled away, terrified, and fell. Like all companions he was white, with blue eyes, but as he lay sprawled on the stable floor, the mad eyes of the bereaved Herald alighted on something. One of the foal's front hoof was covered by a sock of stark black hair.  
  
"Demon! Demon!" Tran shrieked madly. "Leave little demon! Polluted impostor! Get away!"  
  
The foal stumbled to his feet and galloped desperately away from the grief maddened Herald, and away into the night.  
  
*  
  
A crunching of leaves warned her, and she pulled her bow around, arrow nocked. She saw no humans, which relieved her, and her eyes alighted on a tiny foal.  
  
"Why, hello, little one." She said in surprise, slowly approaching the shrinking animal. When she touched it with shrinking fingers, it looked up at her with huge, blue eyes that touched her soul. "You look to be a Companion foal, little one," She said in wonder. "But what are you doing here?"  
  
An impression of fear, and of running, reached her, and shock danced on her face. "Hey - you really do talk in people's heads!" she exclaimed, before frowning slightly. "But - what was that? You got frightened, and ran away?" The horse whickered softly, and she nodded. "I know how you feel." She said softly. "I ran away from my village, too." Curiosity brushed her, and she elaborated. "They thought I was a thief," she said, face darkening with anger. "They were going to kill me after I hit the mayor trying to escape." The runaway blushed slightly at the guilty memory. "What are we going to do with you?" she sighed. "You should go back to the palace, with your own kind." The little Companion nuzzled at her hand. "Me?" the girl said incredulously. "You want me to look after you?" The little colt sent her a feeling of love and trust, and she let out a delighted smile. "I suppose I could." She smiled as she led the little foal into the forest clearing that was her camp.  
  
She looked worried as she stared at her meager provisions. The little foal was bone thin, but she had nothing the baby could eat. She stroked him comfortingly as she thought it over, staring absently at the ground. Suddenly she noticed something. The horse's front left leg was adorned by a glaring black sock above the hoof.  
  
"I thought Companions were all white." She commented curiously. "You are very strange, little one." Another thought occurred to her then, and she almost smiled at its frivolity. "I can't keep calling you 'little one' or 'baby'." She commented. "Do you have a name?" A feeling of regret was her only reply. "Well, I think I'll call you 'Nighthoof'." She decided. "And I'm Fiona, Fia for short." The colt whickered in recognition. "So, Nighthoof, now we have the problem of feeding you." The foal stared at her solemnly as she continued. "I think," she said with a sigh, "That I may have to turn my hand to thievery to get grain for you."  
  
They planned the theft carefully, locating the nearest grain storage warehouse. Luckily, the harvest had been recent and bountiful, and one sack of barley would not be missed. So, that night Fia had crept into the farming visit and snuck to the warehouse. The lock presented a problem, but Fia somehow managed to push it open, and successfully managed to abscond with the sack of grain.  
  
The crude shelter Fia had constructed was a long way in the dead of night, but Fia managed to return before false dawn had lightened the Eastern horizon. Exhausted, all she wanted was to sleep, but Nighthoof had other ideas.  
  
Obviously hungry, he pushed gently at Fia's leg until she offered him a handful of their stolen grain. Curous, he sniffed the food, but quite clearly had no clue what to do with it. Fia remembered in despair that he was a foal who should be feeding from his mother's teat, and not a full grown horse. The grain was to hard for Nighthoof to eat, much less digest.  
  
She felt like weeping from stress and exhaustion, but instead found herself stirring up the fire and filling the old black pot that she had taken from her former home with waterand some of the barley. She boiled the grains until they were soft and mashed them into a thick porrige, and offered this to the little horse, but this, too, he seemed bemused by. Desperate, now, she dipped her fingers into the gloop, and offered them to the foal to suck. Finally, to her intense releif, he took the food.  
  
The next day, after finally managing to snatch some sleep, Fia decided that she would have to return the little Companion foal to the palace. So, carrying her few belongings and supplies, she set off in the direction of Haven.  
  
That night she found a waystation, and found herself for the first time in weeks in a comfortable building. On the many days that she continued to journey to the palace, she sought out these Stations, reasoning that helping a Companion foal surely allowed her to use them.  
  
Villages became larger and more numerous as they neared the capital, and soon Fia found it increasingly difficult to avoid humans. The mismatched pair stopped outside of Haven, wondering how to proceed.  
  
Fia had gooten a sinking feeling that she had been terriby naive in thinking that this mission would be easy, and only Nighthoof's accusing stare stopped her from fleeing at once. She decided, on reflection, that they would enter just before the gates shut in the evening, and make their way to the palace under the cover of darkness. She had little to fear from theives, after all.  
  
They followed this plan with comparative ease, strolling past the bored gate guard and into the city streets. Fia followed the wide spiral street that led into the heart of Haven, shrinking as she walked by houses that towered against the darkening sky.  
  
At the centre of the immense city she saw the huge complex that must be the palace, and her heart quailed. But she led Nighthoof up to the closed gate, and prepared to face the guard.  
  
He was an old man, and he looked upon the frightened girl in a kindly fashion.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," Fia tried not to let the anxiety she felt infriltrate her voice. "I found a Companion foal, and I thought I should help him back to the Colegium."  
  
She had expected disbeleif, or possibly a curt order to take herself away, but she found that the Guard seemed to beleive her explicitly.  
  
"A Companion foal? A colt, you said? Does he have one black hoof?" The Guard questioned her sharply.  
  
"Yes, sir, to all three questions." Fia replied, greatly bewildered, as she moved aside to display the nervous Nighthoof.  
  
"Follow me, miss." The Guard ordered her. "The Heralds need to be informed of his return at once."  
  
Sitting with the current Dean of the Colegia, she learned about Nighthoof's history, how his mother had died at birth, and Merra's greif-mad Chosen had chased the poor baby from the area.  
  
"We have been searching for your little Nighthoof since the day he left." Smiled Dean Garth. "But - the whole situation is very peculiar. In all the history of Valdemar, no Companions ever Chose whilst they were under the age of ten." Garth stared at the puzzled Fia searchingly.  
  
"Excuse me, sir - but I don't understand."  
  
Garth smiled at her bemused expression. "You were Chosen by little Nighthoof, Fiona. You are a Herald Trainee." 


End file.
